Unexplainable
by Czigany
Summary: What just happened here? - ME3, no pairings. Cracky kmeme fill, 675 words. One-shot, complete.


**Disclaimer:** _Mass __Effect_ is the property of Bioware, Microsoft Game Studios, and Electronic Arts. I am none of these, and as such make no money from this venture.

* * *

"What the hell happened to my ship?!"

Shepard stared, incredulous, at the scene playing out in the port-side cargo bay. Javik's water basins were full of soap bubbles, and he was blowing more at a snickering Garrus. Garrus who was wearing ribbons in his fringe and careening about, snapping his teeth at the bubbles Javik was creating. Ashley was 'taking pictures' with her fingers, darting about them and crooning, "Vogue, baby, vogue. Just a little more to the left, Gary. Vicky, I want to see those hips moving! Work it, dahlings!" in a greatly affected voice.

Shepard backed away slowly and headed for the mess hall. Unfortunately, it was no less bizarre there. Allers was laid out on the mess table, draped in what looked like the sheets from the Commander's bed. James, Kaiden, Ken, and Gabby were standing around her dressed in what appeared to be 'pilgrim' outfits based on the ancient vids about Thanksgiving. Each wore appropriately solemn expressions as Liara, wearing a vicar's cassock over her usual armour, droned on about life, death, and rebirth and how they were all going to miss the dearly departed. Shepard would have been more concerned for the reporter if not for the fact that, every so often, she or one of her 'mourners' would break out into a giggling fit.

A peek in the med bay showed Chakwas, EDI, Adams, Traynor, and... Wrex?! huddled around a vid screen, watching intently. At least, they were when they could stem their tears. Each of them was sobbing - EDI had gotten a bottle of fake tears from somewhere - as they watched what appeared to be the cheesiest soap opera Shepard had ever seen.

Upstairs on the CIC, it wasn't much better. The galaxy map was covered in silly string and comments in what looked like lipstick. Several of the navigators and bridge support crew were quietly knitting in a corner, and the Commander could hear them gossiping idly about recent missions or complaining about joint aches as pertaining to the weather. The war room contained what appeared to be the rest of the crew as well as a few others they had picked up from who-knows-where.

Legion and Primarch Victus were draped against each other, swaying drunkenly and singing a particularly raunchy song about asari maidens. They greeted Shepard - the first on the ship to notice the Commander's presence at all - with a slurred invitation to join them. Glyph whizzed around in a bowtie, dipping and weaving as it tried not to spill the drinks atop the tray someone had strapped to its body.

Tali was seated on a throne that suspiciously like one of the comfortable chairs from Shepard's cabin. She wore a gold paper crown that looked as though it came from a Christmas cracker, and was waving a scepter made from bog roll tubes taped together and painted gold. She appeared to be presiding over the main entertainment, which, from the cheering and betting, was some sort of fighting ring. Shepard sucked in a startled breath as Cortez, dressed in referee stripes, called out the names of the next combatants: Admiral Rann and Joker.

Before the Commander could intervene, there was a cough from behind. Whirling about, Shepard found a particularly sober-looking Mordin standing in the doorway, a polka-dotted paper party hat perched on his scarred horn and several strings of mardi gras beads around his neck. "Ah, Shepard. Good to see you back."

Waving an arm at the melee all around them, the Commander once again asked, "What the hell happened to my ship?"

Mordin coughed again, eyes shifting away guiltily. "Ah. That."

Shepard's teeth ground together. "Yes. That. What happened here?"

The salarian shrugged helplessly. "Complicated. Involves Reapers."

Groaning, Shepard turned towards the lift. "Whatever. I'm too tired for this shit. I'm going to sleep. You guys will be cleaning all this up in the morning."

With that, the Commander stalked off, muttering. "My fish better be alive and my ship models untouched or there'll be hell to pay."


End file.
